i have had enough jobs
to know that if you don't have
landmarks you look at everyday and
dream a bit about them,
then you will surely sink under the monotony
of the same route, same drive
day after day.

on my drive over the river for years and
years, i used to look over at the sewer
treatment plant wondering if the smell
of dirty chocolate was going to smash
me in the face as the peppermint stacks of
smoke senders punched over the industrial
section of kansas city.

now - on my brief drive to work
through an old, small downtown town of
a tiny town, i see one house every morning
that i look at and into for a smile.

it's a front window of a small house that
has a table full of bowls, silverware,
milk jugs, napkins, kids, several adults,
eating, talking and getting their morning ready.

it's every good moment of childhood staged
morning after morning one last time for me to
dream and it's the story of how they live
their lives through my head.

out back of their house is a thriving
garden full of growth, trampoline in back yard,
toys everywhere, one tarnished used car,
camper shell and the assorted sprinklings of
a family living a good life.

i don't want to see their faces or meet these

i want them to remain living comic strip
that i open every morning knowing that it
happens, but it doesn't because i'm just a
passive observer wondering how their present
weaves into my past.

it's delightful.

it makes a drive new each day.

it makes me want to be better.

it makes everything want to be better.

they are the champions of morning.

we are the champions of morning.